


I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm.

by tbazzsnow (Artescapri)



Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [6]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Boys In Love, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown 2019, Carry On Countdown Day 30, Christmas Fluff, Christmas celebration, Domestic Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Fluff, I couldn’t resist posting once the art was up, I’m early for the Christmas prompt, Love, M/M, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, inspired by art by dancingwithdinosaurs, morning fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow
Summary: A glimpse of domestic Baz and Simon soft morning moments on Christmas Eve day, set after events of Wayward Son.  Ficlet written for the Carry On Countdown Day 30 Christmas Celebration. Based on art by dancingwithdinosaurs on tumblr.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559566
Comments: 39
Kudos: 222
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2019





	I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m posting this early for the Carry On Countdown Christmas prompt. I saw a sneak peek of dancingwithdinosaurs art on instagram earlier this week and I wrote a fic based on it. They posted the art today so I couldn’t resist posting the fic it inspired. Merry Christmas to all.  
> Glorious art inspiration here: https://dancingwdinosaurs.tumblr.com/post/189812265440/i-ve-been-crazy-busy-lately-so-this-took-forever

**I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm**

**Baz**

The light filtering in from the window has a muted quality to it. It must be snowing again. 

I reach across the bed but the sheets are cool and empty. Snow must be up already. Awake at first light, just like he always was at Watford. I’m not complaining. It’s a vast improvement from the months when even getting out of bed was a Herculean effort for him. 

I’m grateful those days are behind us.

I stretch, brush the hair out of my eyes and slowly drag myself to a seated position. I feel the chill of the air as the blankets slide away. 

It’s still feels new, spending the nights with him again. It’s been slow and tentative but we’re finding our way back to each other. Learning how to put words to what’s in our hearts. Mostly finding the courage to say those words out loud in my case—I’ve been writing sonnets to him in my head for years.

And I have no intention of stopping. 

I never expected Simon to be a poet. His words come haltingly, hesitantly, when he speaks but he pierces my heart with every phrase. It’s easier for him to write them out, easier than saying them, and I treasure every scrap of paper that finds its way into my pocket, gets tucked into my book bag, slipped between the pages of my books. 

I see a scrap of paper now, resting on an unfamiliar but brightly coloured jumper that’s laid out on the chair. A pair of jeans are tucked under it. Snow must have gone through the bag I’m taking to Hampshire and plucked those out.

It seems he’s decided what I’m going to wear today. 

It’s fine, really. I can’t help but smile at the jeans he’s chosen—I know those are his favorites of mine. 

For _reasons_. 

We’re spending today—Christmas Eve Day—with Penny and Shep before we go our separate ways for the holiday. Penny to Houslow with Shep in tow and Snow and I to Hampshire to be with my family. 

It’s a special day, no matter who shares it with us. 

I can’t help but think back to the Christmas Eve when this all started. The early morning hours when my fantasies became reality and my world blazed to light with the magic that is kissing Simon Snow. 

It’s never stopped being magic, kissing Simon. Every kiss is a revelation, every touch of lips a communion, our mouths finding an intimacy we never could with words. 

But we’re making progress. The words are finding their way. 

I pick up the scrap of paper. He’s scribbled a short note on it. _“So we can match”_ is all it says and this jumper could damn well have an inebriated reindeer that lights up on it and play _“Santa Claus is Coming to Town”_ on interminable repeat and I’d still wear the damn thing with pride. 

I tuck the note in the pocket of the jeans. The scent of bacon hits me as I do. 

He’s making breakfast. Of course he is.

I take a few moments to indulge in a hot shower but I don’t fuss with my hair after. He likes it this way—falling in damp waves around my face—and I like the way he looks at me when it’s like this. 

I put on the outfit Snow set out. The jumper is soft and less aggressively decorated than I expected. It looks good, which means I can’t snark about it as much as I might wish. 

But I can still find something to say—he’ll be waiting for it. 

I find Snow in the kitchen, as expected, frying up eggs to go with the bacon that’s piled on the platter near him, tea mug in hand.

He’s similarly attired in a festive holiday jumper. I slide my arms around his waist and rest my chin on his shoulder. “Good morning, love.” He smells like soap and butter and freshly baked scones. He smells like Simon. 

He leans his head back and I press a kiss to his cheek, pulling him closer as I lock my arms across his waist. “You’ve enough food to feed a crowd. Isn’t it just the three of us?”

He shakes his head. “Shep’s coming over for breakfast.” 

“Ah. That explains the quantities.” I trace my lips over that mole on his neck that I find so irresistible. 

He pauses his culinary efforts for an instant, reaching up to stroke my cheek and sink his fingers in my hair, the warmth of his touch lingering on my skin even after his hand slips away. 

I close my eyes and breathe him in.

Simon sets his tea down and briefly brushes his hand over my own clasped around his waist. “You’re mighty distracting this morning.”

“I’d like to think I’m distracting every morning.”

“More than you know. Don’t make me burn these eggs.”

“That would be a tragedy of epic proportions. I’ll try to rein in my irresistible charms.”

He huffs as he stirs the eggs. I rest my chin back on his shoulder. “I see you’ve added fashion consultant to your resume.” I nuzzle his neck. “Thank you for the jumper, love.”

Simon turns the burner down and covers the scrambled eggs before he turns in my arms to face me. His grins widens as he takes in the sight of me in the jumper, then he lifts up on his tiptoes, to brush his lips to mine and say words that I’ve longed to hear from him. “Happy Christmas, darling.”

I’m too overcome to answer. I let my lips on his speak for me.   
  



End file.
